


Luck Be With Us

by OrangeBlossoms



Series: Lissabelle Week 2019 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, Post-Canon, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 04:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeBlossoms/pseuds/OrangeBlossoms
Summary: It’s a spot of luck that has led them to this encounter in the first place. Enough to make her question whether providence rather than chance is at play.Maribelle meets the more theatrical of her sons from the future.





	Luck Be With Us

**Author's Note:**

> For day 3 of Lissabelle Week  
Prompt: Luck
> 
> Takes place post-canon. I figure they would work on their own projects for a few years before settling down. Lissa continues to travel, eventually ending up in a more diplomatic role. Maribelle works towards becoming a magistrate.

They are both currently members of the Exalt’s entourage as they rove the hills and dales of the continent and beyond in search of their tactician. One afternoon over tea, Lissa had confidently proclaimed that they would stumble upon Robin in a nondescript field when they least anticipated it. Something to do with the unconventional manner in which they had first met. 

Maribelle has grown to accept the princess’s intuition and expects a letter to find its way to her detailing just such an occurrence. She would prefer to be present herself, but her own future plans will summon her from this temporary detour. Reading through records and tomes late at night by candlelight is only a stopgap measure until instruction is in session and she can pursue her dream in earnest, no longer constrained by the precarious and unpredictable nature of army life. 

As much as it pains her to reduce her contact with Lissa to mere correspondence, she will part ways with their travel party by the end of the week to make time for a stop in Themis before continuing on to Ylisstol. If only Lissa were as dedicated to the epistolary arts as herself. The haphazard and informal manner in which her dearest fulfills her end of written exchanges is enough to inspire much hand wringing and sighing, but it is incontrovertibly and endearingly _Lissa _all the same, right down to the impatient, whimsical scrawl. 

At the very least, she has grown uniquely skilled in deciphering what she had once deemed illegible, a fact that had her teasingly recommend that they report to the Exalt’s spymaster as cryptographers. Lissa had simply snickered in agreement, fully willing to play along, her joie de vivre leading to sighing of a more smitten variety. Lissa is an exception to many things and one of the few to appreciate her unique sense of humor.

With the princess on her mind, she casts a glance back over her shoulder and past the heads of their travel companions. Some time ago, Lissa had wandered down the line to talk with her adult niece (the younger Lucina safe at home in Ylisstol). She rarely stays in place when on the move, whereas Maribelle is content to maintain her position as their group plods onward, the pace more relaxed than it had been during their days on the march. When Lissa reappears some time later, Maribelle notices a change in mood. She gives her a moment before she questions it, watching her expression shift from worried to introspective and back again. 

“A gold piece for your thoughts, darling?”

Lissa isn’t quite as carefree as she prefers others to presume, but she’s long since grown out of avoiding her concerns and Maribelle is always a willing confidante. The prompt works and Lissa’s face contorts in concentration as though she is unsure how to convey her thoughts. Not quite cause for alarm and yet—

“Just something Luci told me. Something that might happen though I’m kinda surprised it hasn’t yet.”

The cryptic statement certainly piques her interest further, but she holds back, only humming a wordless question in response. Prodding too much can backfire and they’ve both learned patience over time.

“It isn’t anything _bad_. Just… I don’t really know what to think about it and I’d rather we get to talk things over just the two of us.”

Lissa shields her eyes from the noonday sun as she tilts her head up towards her with a cautious smile. It has the opposite effect than intended, but in the end, Maribelle’s more than amenable to the personal remaining private and decides not to press further. News has a way of traveling in camp no matter how close to the vest one plays things and she would rather not be the subject of whispered speculation when she can avoid it, even among friends. There’s plenty of _that_ to go around in Court as it is.

Whether it is fortune or fate, their progress is delayed. Their forward scout returns, one of the few young fliers available for the journey. She is learning on the job, their airborne knights piecing their training program back together under the guidance of Cordelia. Her inexperience shows as she stammers her report, her volume erratic in her panic. Lord Chrom takes over before she can finish and those who served in Plegia, Valm and all the lands beyond react accordingly, the memories of preparing for battle still recent enough to feel second nature.

It’s dirty work, but lawless scoundrels and revenants still roam. This isn’t the first time they have intervened and she doubts it will be the last. During an abridged briefing Lissa and herself are asked to prioritize the villagers, their homes under attack from bandits. The knight reports that a lone swordsman has come to the villagers’ aid, but the odds are unfavorable no matter how skilled an individual. 

They react swiftly, Lissa hitching a ride on her horse. For a brief moment, she clutches her hand, Lissa squeezing back. It’s an unspoken yet mutually understood promise to pull through safely and a silent prayer for luck. It’s over all too quickly and sentiments are temporarily cast aside for practiced focus. She frees a tome from its saddlebag as Lissa reaches for her axe. The metal hums with magic when she dismounts in front of a home, unarmed villagers inside. 

Most of the activity is in the far side of town where the houses end and a sea of golden tall grass flows to the forest’s edge. They have been given their orders and hew close to the building, a hush descending as the two forces size each other up. She casts a wary eye at their surroundings as Lissa speaks with a village sage. 

As soon as the standstill breaks, they are swept up into the chaos as the swordsman shouts outlandish proclamations. She relegates the noise to the background as their group continues to filter into the small village. Lissa, however, noticeably falters when she returns to Maribelle’s side. Before Maribelle can inquire, Lissa addresses her once again, an air of mystery to her words.

“Remember that thing I said I’d tell you about later?” she shouts with a harried glance in Maribelle’s direction. She pauses for a breath to toss a hand axe as the bandits make the soon to be fatal mistake of targeting them. She continues without waiting for a reply. “Uh well, we’re gonna be talking about it _real_ soon instead. Could you come with me?” 

Her initial response is to silently gawk. The two of them are all that bar entry to the home, the sage inside providing support via healing magic. It’s unlike Lissa to forget about those in need of their protection. She shakes herself out of her stupor and lets a lightning spell fly over Lissa’s shoulder straight into the chest of an advancing ruffian. The charge lingers in the air and warmth laces her gloved fingers from the effort. Pops and crackles overlay cries of pain, but like the swordsman’s ramblings, she tunes those out for now and refocuses on Lissa.

“Right,” Lissa says with a nod, translating her unspoken question. “We—I’ll find you after then. Stay safe! Love you! See you soon!” 

And then she’s gone before Maribelle can get a word in edgewise, darting off on foot in the direction of the swordsman. He appears to be performing a similar function as herself by hovering in a defensive position at the entryway of another house. She doesn’t have much opportunity to monitor what occurs after that as the fighting ensues and she fulfills her assignment, the sage offering thanks in the form of an elixir. 

She takes her leave with a distant farewell, impatient to be reunited with Lissa and get to the bottom of her abrupt departure. The bright yellows and greens of her traveling clothes are easy enough to spot off to the side of the crowd even as the villagers start to mingle with their party, sharing offers of food and housing. 

Another sight gives her pause. The swordsman is with her, gesturing wildly and while Lissa is certainly capable of taking care of herself, her hackles raise nonetheless. There’s no need to close the distance in a gallop, but she clutches the reins at the temptation, all too aware of the looks she catches from others as she guides her horse across a humble town square and past an uneven line of rickety fences. Something strange is afoot and to her consternation it seems as though she is the last one to be fully informed. 

All irritation temporarily flies out the window at the sight of Lissa’s tears. She dismounts and hastens to her side with a ready embrace. Her ire rekindles and quickly transfers to the man opposite. Upon closer inspection he is just a boy, but that detail only causes her to question his parentage, the likes of which neglected to teach him proper manners if Lissa’s distress is any indication. She continues to offer Lissa support in the form of a delicate hand on her shoulder, the other brandishing her parasol at the rogue. 

“Hold, you bellowing fool! What makes you think you—“

Sharp as her lecture begins, it doesn’t faze the recipient. Before she can continue, the man turns to her and clutches her hand. She prepares a scathing reprimand as she retracts her fingers from his grasp only to choke on her words at his greeting.

“Forsooth, Mother said you were present! We were on our way to find you, Most Dire of Damsels!” He stops to clear his throat, her eyes narrowing at the interruption, but then she blinks slowly as the sentence pieces itself together in her mind. “Um, I mean, Ma—“

“I’m sorry, b-but _Mother_?” she interjects, her anger tapering off into confusion as she takes a moment to truly look at him. The epiphany hits like a bolt, swift and uncompromising. Her knees give way as she holds onto Lissa to prevent herself from stumbling, her partner’s stance solid despite her continued sniffing. Others have stopped to watch the exchange at a distance, but this… this eclipses any concern over unwanted bystanders. 

She can see it in the way he smiles, with a kindness that hints at an unruly nature underneath. It promises the sort of trouble that ends the day muddy from fishing all manner of creatures from ponds and under rocks. 

It’s then that Lissa tugs on the hand still resting on her shoulder and points to a torn sleeve on the young man. She leans into her blouse and belatedly Maribelle feels as much as hears the helpless giggling that accompanies the tears as a second dawning realization overtakes her. On the boy’s arm is a mark all too familiar to them both, the implications of which are many. 

“Is that—?”

“Owain is _ahaha_ a-and h-he…” she starts, but remainder of what she wishes to say is lost in another bout of laughter. 

While she speculated something like this could one day occur, the thought had grown distant as the triumphant chaos of a post-Grima world swept them both up in in a series of formal events and additional responsibilities. With their inclusion, the advisory council to the Exalt trended rather young considering the weight on his shoulders. Lissa had teased that with Frederick now grizzled (he had earned a facial scar in the final battle that many found rather fetching and sported an early smattering of gray hairs that others yet found distinguished) and even stodgier and Maribelle being an old soul herself, the two more than made up for the imbalance. 

The once Shepherds barely had any time to breathe let alone ponder the chance of potential children from another time even if several of their already married colleagues had encountered their own complicated visitors from the future. 

“Owain…” she murmurs until Lissa’s arms close around her waist tight enough to draw out a surprised gasp. “Darling, p-please!”

The request has little impact as Lissa then reaches out an arm and yanks their son into the embrace as well. She recognizes more of Lissa than herself, but notes the crest on a ring dangling from his neck. He catches her watching and removes the chain. Unlike his mother, the boy—_Owain_, she reminds herself, testing the name in her mind and finding that it rings true—has grown more subdued. He extends a closed hand to her and reflexively she opens her palm at the gesture. Pendent from a delicate silver chain is the ring bearing another symbol as familiar to her as her own name.

“Mother already saw, but this ring with the crest of Themis was bestowed upon her in my time.” 

His expression dims slightly, but just as it is with Lissa, the light never fades completely nor does it dwindle for long. 

“I never thought…” Lissa begins, the rest of her words mumbled into her chest, but Maribelle believes she understands. For that alone she would be grateful. So, she reaches out a hand and gently pats his arm before looking back to her partner. Any attempts to stem her own blubbering are mostly successful, but she fails to prevent her eyes from growing misty. Someone needs to keep it together out of the lot of them. 

“It’s alright, dearest,” she says, quiet and soft, before reverting back to the comfort of her lecturer’s voice, her very essence rebelling against any desire to welcome a stranger in with open arms. “Let’s get out of the sun and and find somewhere more,” she pauses to eye a trio of chickens that have wandered past the fencing, “appropriate to talk. I would like to have a proper introduction this time, Owain.”

He nods, wide-eyed and obedient.

“Yes, Ma.”

And she sighs at that.

“You cannot mean to tell me that’s how you addressed your mother?”

“Well, I didn’t start it…” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck.

“A gentleman takes responsibility for his actions and it hardly matters who—though wait, precisely what do you mean by that?”

Lissa shakes her head as if to tell her it can wait and her beaming smile is enough to outshine Maribelle’s reservations. 

“Let’s go find Lucina!” she calls, taking her by the hand as she uses her other sleeve to gracelessly wipe at her face. Despite it all, her heart skips a beat and she falls a little further as Lissa shoots her a knowing grin and intertwines  
their fingers. She looks to their new charge then. “C’mon, Owain!”

She’s surprised when he stops to extend an arm to her, bowing to a depth meant for a duchess. The flattery works after a cue from her partner as she suppresses her laughter behind a hand. After some hesitation, she responds accordingly with her own bow as if in on the joke. They all make their way to the center of town, Owain alarming them both as he shouts an entirely unbetting and uncouth greeting to his uncle. There will be time to inquire further about etiquette and education, but for now she’s grateful they have stumbled into this spot of luck regardless.

**Author's Note:**

> This might be my final fic submission for the week. It’s possible I will have a late one, but we’ll see.
> 
> I’m not entirely sold on the idea that Owain would follow Brady’s lead with “Ma”, but it’s a funny thought.


End file.
